Queen
by Squire of Gothos
Summary: A mother's journey into the inhuman in an attempt to give her son a better life. Eva-meets-Star-Trek sometime after the events of First Contact and after the Scimitar incident at well, just to be more clear
1. Chapter 1

Blankness. Peace. Vague gray shapes, non-threatening, and not always there. Dreams, flitting about, some that he remembered, others that he only caught wisps of, that faded in the grogginess of wakefulness. Someone calling his name.

_Shinji._

Wakefulness. The world was shaking. No, someone was shaking _him..._

_Shinji._

"Shinji...!"

He blinked sleepily, and a familiar face came into focus. Short messy blue hair wreathed a pale oval face. Crimson eyes blinked expectantly.

"We'll be late for school, Shinji."

He turned over, suppressing irritation.

"Just a few more minutes," he mumbled, trying to find the peaceful place he had been moments before.

"You've said that three times already," the Irritator repeated, pulling at him insistently. He turned, wracking his brain, finally settling on the course of action that almost always worked.

"Don't lean over me when you're only half-dressed," he said, glancing down. The girl promptly blushed, and pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself protectively and pouting slightly. Her mouth opened and closed.

"When are you going to get over that sister-complex of yours?" she finally asked, turning and walking stiffly out of the room. It wasn't quite a stalk, but it was close. He breathed a sigh of relief, and turned over, pulling the covers over his head, to catch a few more minutes of sleep. He jumped at a soft weight on the covers.

"On the other hand," a voice cooed into his ear, "maybe you're not the only one with a complex." Arms wound their way around his neck, and he stiffened.

"R-Rei!" he squeaked, "what're you-" He looked up to see her laughing eyes as she smoothly got up and turned to go.

"Well, at least you're awake," she said, not looking back. He blushed, hiding his frustration, among other things. There was no point trying to sleep now. Smothering a yawn, he stumbled out of bed and into the hallway.

"Morning, sleepyhead!"

He tried to squirm away as Yui brushed a hand through his hair as she breezed by. She was immaculate, sickeningly so, for how early it was. Nine AM early. "Hurry up, or you won't have time for breakfast."

"Mom, I'll eat as I walk..."

"That's unhealthy, Shinji, you know that!" She tut-tutted a she turned a corner. "You should sit down, relax a bit before school. That way, you-" The lecture continued, but diminished in volume as she continued on to the kitchen. He continued his usual morning routine in the bathroom, washing his face amidst an incessant beating on the door.

"Rei...!" Yui's distant voice, chastising his younger sister. He smiled, and rinsed off his face slowly. "Cut it out!"

"But mom...!" Rei's voice took on a subtle whine. "I've got to finish getting ready, and he's hogging the bathroom!"

"Use the other one," Yui's distant voice answered.

"But all my stuff is in this one!"

Shinji took his time and enjoyed the small victory. They were few and far between, he being the older and she the younger, and a sister on top of that.

Five minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom, and she somehow wriggled past him before he had even left the doorway. He felt the rush of air as she slammed the door, and couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"_Jerk,"_ she hissed through the closed door. She must have heard his laugh. Shinji gathered his book bag from his room, lunch from the counter, and breakfast from the table, and trudged his way past the kitchen.

"Oh, stop looking so down," Yui said, pinning him down and kissing him on cheek. "It's not that early, and you know it!" She pulled back, a gentle smile on her face, her hands on his shoulders as he squirmed away.

"Mom, stop," he protested weakly.

"Have you got everything?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course, why do you always ask?" he answered automatically, mentally checking off everything. "Oh, wait, my homework!" he dropped everything, dashed back to his room, and retrieved the necessary item, returning and stuffing it in his book bag.

"There, aren't you glad I asked?" she said cheerfully. He grimaced, finally allowing a half-grin to show the ruefulness he felt.

"Thanks mom," he said, pausing a moment to hug her with one arm as he passed.

"Now mister, is that all I mean to you?" she looked at him archly, and he wavered for a moment. Yui smiled, confirming that she'd been pulling his leg. "Go on, you'll be late," she said, turning to go into the living room. He walked over and hugged her.

"I love you, mom." She looked over her shoulder at him, then turned and hugged him back.

"Well, what brought this on?" she murmured, brushing a hand through his hair. He turned and slipped from her embrace, jogging for the door.

"Bye mom!" he called over his shoulder.

"Shinji, your breakfast! And your book bag...!" she called after him. He turned, backtracking and retrieving the items as Yui continued into the living room.

"Dear," she said, directing her attention to her husband, who was firmly ensconced in his paper, and was slowly eating his breakfast. "You'll be late."

"Hm?" he made a brief glancing motion in her direction. "Sure, Yui."

"You've already said that three times," Yui answered, her eyes narrowing. She reached over, pulling the newspaper down a few inches. "Mister Ikari?"

His eyes lowered the few inches she had lowered the paper, still following the story he was reading.

"Sure, Yui," he repeated.

Shinji was about to turn to go when his sister brushed by him. A faint smell of lavender passed with her. He suddenly found himself nearly pulled off his feet and dragged through the door. She had looped an arm through his and had not even slowed down.

"Bye, kids!" Yui called.

"Bye, mom!" Rei answered, as Shinji tried to catch his wind, and his footing. He regained both, and pulled together the shreds of his dignity, settling into the cool-guy walk that most boys his age tried to perfect. In this case, one hand in pocket, the other hanging loose, book bag appearing to be almost an afterthought, slung on haphazardly. Rei's gait beside his was dynamic, the flitting fly to his slow mosquito buzz. First on one side of him, then on the other, at one moment, an arm looped through his, the next moment shying away from him as if he were the plague, and all the while complaining.

"Really," she said, "what were you doing in there? It doesn't take you a long time in the bathroom, I know it doesn't." She reached over and mussed up his hair. He didn't flinch, or try to fix it. "It wasn't your hair, you just ran a comb through that." She sniffed delicately. "Aren't you going to fix it?" she asked.

"Don't care," he mumbled.

"What if I were to untuck your shirt?" she asked, tugging half of it out, where it blew loosely in the wind.

"Don't care," he repeated tiredly. She bounced to his other side, pulling the lunch sack from his loose grasp.

"What if I took your lunch?"

"Don't care," he said again, hiding his irritation.

"You've got money for a school lunch, don't you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Did dad give it to you? Or was it from your part-time job?"

He ignored the interrogation, letting her believe what she wanted, and smiling a little.

"C'mon, answer me...!" she insisted, latching onto his arm again, as if trying to pull the answer from him by force. He said nothing, and didn't try to push her away. This eventually worked, and she settled down for the long walk to school. After half minute or so she reached over and took his hand, looking at him for a moment. He glanced at her, and squeezed her hand. Mutual forgiveness now out of the way, they continued walking.

Shinji glanced back once, and saw his mother standing on the balcony of their apartment, five stories up. She waved, the motion barely visible this far away. He didn't wave back, knowing she probably wouldn't see it, and not wanting to do anything that might set Rei off again.

He didn't look back after that, and a few minutes later their line of sight was broken by intervening buildings. He didn't see When Yui dropped her hand, her smile fading slowly. He didn't hear the clanking, which slowly grew in volume, soon accompanied by whines of micro-machinery, and moving parts.

A man entered the Ikari family household living room, or what used to be a man. An infestation of black tubes covered various parts of his body, and his pale gray skin was mostly covered by a black material that was dull and shiny at the same time. One arm terminated in a vicious looking scissor-drill-like combination, while the other appeared to be a mostly-human-like hand. Mechanical and biological flowed together almost seamlessly, making it hard to tell where the man ended and the machine began.

Gendo did not even give any indication that he knew anything was out of the ordinary, and kept reading his newspaper. Yui turned her head and looked at the newcomer, her eyes blinking rapidly for a few seconds. Then she turned, and again looked out towards where Shinji had disappeared down the street. The man-machine turned as if on cue, and clanked away. Perhaps that moment of eye contact had heralded a complex exchange of information. To an outsider, there would be no way to tell without the proper scanning devices.

Almost idly, Yui walked over to an otherwise blank, featureless section of wall, and waved her hand over it. Opaque white turned midnight black, forming a large rectangular view-screen. She watched as myriad white lines etched themselves onto the blackness, a flowing spiderweb of interconnections. It was dense in places, like nodes in a complex web, and thinned out at the edges. The screen moved up and to the left, into one of the sparser areas, zooming in. A blinking dot of yellow became visible, slowly traveling along one of the spiderweb-thin lines, heading out towards an area that was nearly blank of lines.

The view zoomed in until the single white line took up the entire screen, and slowly the blinking dot of light resolved itself into a tiny square of gray, which grew until it too filled most of the screen. Complex interconnecting structures and beams made up a giant cube, which flew along a tunnel of white. Illusion of movement was created by changes in the intensity of the light, and by regular gray shapes that whizzed by at intervals.

A giant cube traveled through a tunnel of light, slowly approaching its destination.

* * *

The bridge was a smoothly buzzing machine, everything ticking along at the proper pace, a controlled meltdown, just the way it was supposed to be. Captain Christopher Zimmerman looked around in satisfaction, then yawned noisily, stretching his feet out from where he sat in the command chair of the cozy little bridge.

'Straight-Shot' Zimmerman to his crew, at least out of his earshot, that is, was anything but a straight shot, making the name more ironic than accurate. Maybe that was how he got it. His tactics and choice of course were usually more crooked than one of Darkseid's Eraser Beams, but he had a reputation for getting the job done, and his way of doing things perfectly meshed with the scouting role. Thus, he had been given Captainship of a Sabre-Class Light Destroyer and had been shipped out and assigned to the new Seventh Fleet, home of one of Star Fleet's newest Admirals, one who was, and would become even more, famous for straightening out possible 'problem-officers'.

"Well, Cap, we're coming up on the next scheduled course change," The ship's XO said, giving a subtle reminder to his Captain, who gave all the appearance of just having woken up from a nap.

"Hnnh?" Zimmerman looked questioningly at his First Officer for a moment. "That so?" The man did not respond to the obvious bait. "Well then," The Captain shook himself, sitting up and looking over to Navigation.

"Trance, anything diddling your sensors over there?"

Lieutenant Theresa Terrance Garcia looked up in consternation.

"N-No sir," she replied, clearing her throat softly and rechecking her instruments quickly. The Captain had quickly pounced on her middle name, giving her the unofficial call-sign 'Trance' which the rest of the crew cemented to her with some eagerness. Many in the crew had wondered why the Captain would choose so straightlaiced an officer, even going to far as to request her specifically, when he was known for being so lax himself. It was one of many conundrums that made up the odd Captain Zimmerman.

"No sir," she said confidently, after another few moments. "Nothing abnormal on the sensors."

"Good," Zimmerman said, turning in dismissal of any further input from the stiff Lieutenant, who glanced at him out of the corner of her eye disapprovingly, before returning to her precious sensors. "Well, in that case, let's-" The man's next words were drowned out by the crash of something impacting the hull of the ship, and the sudden whooping of the Red Alert siren.

"Report!" Zimmerman barked out, hanging onto the arms of his seat for dear life as the ship swung crazily, the inertial dampeners struggling to cancel out the sudden unexpected course changes. The Captain looked back over at Theresa, who was bent over her control panel, somehow glued to her seat with no seeming effort on her part at all.

He waited, knowing that she would speak when she had all the variables and information gathered and parsed in her mind, and when she spoke, it would be with absolute authority. It was for this reason he had requested her. Other Captains had overlooked her in their reviews, choosing to ignore her eidetic memory and quick analytical brain to focus on how withdrawn she was with the other crew. Most Captains wanted a Nav officer who got along with her crew-mates, but Zimmerman knew how special Theresa was, if she was treated right, and he saw to it that she was.

"Massive subspace anomaly almost directly on top of our previous location, sir!" she said sharply, as the helmsman regained the ship's attitude control, and brought her back to an even heading. "It's..." She did a double-take of her readings. "-impossible," she whispered. Zimmerman's eyes narrowed at such a sketchy report from a usually astute officer. He held himself back from saying anything, deciding that the report said a lot in and of itself. If something had rattled Theresa, it was big indeed. Sure enough, she regained her composure and blushed. "Sorry, sir," she murmured sheepishly, even though her expression conveyed a hidden panic. "It's Borg," she said, and those two words brought the entire bridge crew to a halt for a few seconds. "It's unmistakable. A transwarp conduit opened almost on top of us."

"On screen," Zimmerman said smoothly, resisting the urge to ask her if she was sure. It would have been an insult, one she probably wouldn't forget. The main viewer dominating the front of the bridge stabilized, showing a distant gray speck. "Magnify." The speck jumped closer, and outlining a cube in stark detail. The normally bustling bridge was quiet. "Evasive!" Zimmerman snapped, "Any heading! Maximum warp!"

"Warp drive is offline, sir!" the helmsman replied, glancing frantically at his Captain for a moment before returning to his console.

"Impulse, then," The Captain replied.

"We only have thirty-percent impulse available for-"

"Use it!" Zimmerman snapped. "Shields?"

"Inoperative-!" the Tactical officer replied, her slim hands dancing over the flat panel before her. The Borg ship grew larger, dominating the screen. The ship buffeted again, causing the screen to fuzz for a moment, before it settled down again. There was no way to tell if the impact had been weapons fire or something else.

Zimmerman froze. It wasn't pleasant, and he knew he would remember it for the rest of his life. Coming straight at him was a vessel that even a Sovereign Class Battleship would have to be wary of, and he was in a piddling scoutship. Solutions danced in his head, fragments whirling around.

_Rotating shield modulations. Phasers on variable settings, ready to be readjusted at a moments' notice. Do we even have any Transphasic torpedoes in our stocks?_ Undoubtedly not. A Saber Class could only hold thirty Photon Torpedoes, and a Transphasics were energy hogs. The Borg had been silent for over three years, and Starfleet had slowly stepped down from their alert status.

Sure, the big ships carried a few Photon Torpedoes already converted over to Transphasics, because the conversion process was time intensive, so it was useless to try doing it in the middle of battle, but those torpedoes were only effective against the basic Borg power source, which was far different from the power generators on the other ships of the Alpha Quadrant. Any Transphasic Torpedoes were essentially insurance, taking up valuable space in the cargo hold of the ship that carried them.

The Borg ship loomed closer, and the ship rocked violently. He imagined he saw the Cube slowing, preparing to turn and rend his ship to pieces. A single tractor pulse, and it would all be over, especially with no shields.

"I've got shields!" the Tactical Officer cried triumphantly, as if on cue. "Thirty percent and holding!" The ship bucked like a schooner in a storm. "Twenty three percent...!"

Zimmerman could practically count the steel frames and girders that made up the Cube, and then it was gone, and the ship settled onto a stable course once more. He blinked once, then twice.

"Reverse viewer," he said, his calm voice belying the roil of emotions in his gut. A moment, and the viewer showed a gray speck getting smaller.

"We were caught in its wake, sir," Theresa said, her voice holding bemusement. She glanced up from her control panel, now that the situation had calmed enough for it, and looked at him with a small grin. "That ship had to have been overloading its impulse engines, for us to get caught like that."

"Huh. Wonder where it was going in such a hurry," the XO said, his voice slightly awed. "Should we pursue?"

"Hell no," Zimmerman answered automatically, then amended himself. "This kind of thing is exactly what Admiral Picard would want to know about. We'll return to the fleet and give a report." Normally a Captain didn't have to explain himself to his crew, and often the situation was balanced on a razor's edge, and explanation would take up valuable time, but in this instance, Zimmerman was overly conscious of his inner cowardice of a moment ago, even if the crew didn't know about it, and so he explained.

* * *

A/N: Yeahhh, I'm pretty sure I'm the first to do a Yui-as-Borg-Queen scenario, so I'll boldly go where no ffnet writer has gone before. Yes, I'm prepared for the lynching I'm sure to get for that tired pun.

This is just another off-the-cuff story to release tension while I work slowly on the main project I'm working on. Actually, this scenario is a bit exciting, I think. It's not often enough that the hero is given a bunch of power. I like giving them that, then taking it away, then giving it back, etc.

[Pakled] "We _like_ power!" [/Pakled]

anyway, that's just me, as opposed to stringing out the hero on his last legs, and constantly making him weak. So, for all the Eva/StarTrek fans, enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

The panicked status reports flowing out of the comm systems were eerily reminiscent of Wolf 359, and they sent a faint chill down Admiral Picard's spine as he observed the flow of battle.

"...heavy damage to the starboard nacelle, falling back to secondary tactical position,"

"Shields at forty three percent, falling back to mobile position three, taking heavy fire...!"

"-antimatter containment is going!" Static made the last report too garbled to fully understand, "...hull breach in progress...! ...-all hands abandon ship! Repeat, all hands abandon-"

Picard stared intently at the main viewer, his face a mask of stone. Around him, the bridge of Seventh Fleet's flagship was a storm of activity, as Captain Riker fought his ship. On the main viewer, debris, jagged pieces of broken tritanium hull, and a multitude of moving and non-moving lights haloed a savagely wounded Borg cube. Its massive structure showed rents big enough to fit a Galaxy Class starship into, and its outer superstructure was a crumbling ruin, but this only served to hide the danger the ship still posed to all ships in range.

The Enterprise was currently shielding a series of desperate rescue operations spawned by the destruction of two entire Galaxy Wings. The ships of both task forces had gotten the worst of the initial back-and-forth exchange between the Borg Cube and the Federation fleet.

Starships swam through space around the Cube, speckles of fire lancing out seemingly at random. The rate of fire was low enough to indicate that the battle had been going on for some time, and ships were struggling to recharge fading phaser banks, and were hording the precious remaining torpedoes in their stocks.

A wavering green beam lashed out from some emitter deep inside the Borg ship, latching onto the small sleek form of one of the half dozen Intrepid Class light cruisers that were making close passes at the behemoth. The small ship staggered in space, firing two bright red beams up towards where the emitter was located, but the green beam continued plying at its shields. The ship was obviously doomed, unless a miracle occurred.

"Captain..." Picard touched the sleeve of his former First Officer, and the man looked over for a moment, pulled from his battle-fever by the urgency in his voice. He looked back to the viewer, seeming to divine what Picard was thinking.

"Ensign, adjust your heading thirty degrees to port, maximum impulse!"

"Aye, sir!" The young man's fingers did a feverish tap dance on his control panel, and the flagship accelerated back into the thick of the battle.

Up ahead, a blackened and scorched Prometheus Attack cruiser swooped between the Borg ship and the dying Intrepid, firing phasers from multiple emitters in short bursts, obviously playing through the frequencies hoping to get lucky. They got lucky, and one of their phaser bursts touched off an explosion which gouged another hole in the side of the massive Cube, and the green beam evaporated into space. The massive ship began to turn.

"Ensign!" Riker snapped, "Auxiliary power to the impulse engines...!"

Too late. A flurry of quantum torpedoes flew from the underside of the Prometheus, enlarging the hole in the Borg vessel, shooting yellow tendrils of secondary explosions all along that side of the Cube. That was when the Cube turned on its axis and spat several green bolts of energy back at the small attack cruiser, which was soon wreathed in secondary explosions of its own.

"There goes the Rhode Island," Riker said softly. After a moment's contemplation, he turned aside to a sensor officer. "Did Admiral Janeway make it off the ship?" The petite officer plied her controls for a moment before turning with an expression that was completely devoid of emotion save for around the eyes.

"No sir. I'm sorry."

Picard frowned subtly. They were committed, but something was off just a little, something he couldn't quite pin down. The ship shook as the wounded Borg vessel suddenly increased its attacks, and as ships died around him, Picard sat deep in concentration. Status reports continued to flow.

"...we've lost the entire Beta and Gamma wings, and Theta is down to half strength! It's getting too hot in here, we've got to pull back-" static. Sparkles on the screen, fighters dying in the night like lightning bugs winking off, though in this case never to return.

"Secondary fallback zone had been compromised! All ships scatter, repeat, all ships-"

The secondary fallback zone included the Fleet's Carriers, which were now at risk of being overrun. Picard sat up slowly, as if the weight of his dying command was literally on his shoulders. He pressed a button on the small panel on the left arm of his command chair.

"Mister Worf, what's your strength?" he asked. A short hiss of static responded, then,

"Admiral!" A gruff Klingon voice made the name sound almost like an insult, though that was undoubtedly adrenaline fueled. "Forty seven percent of my combat strength remains, nearly half of that in Peregrines! One more strike should be sufficient-"

"Yes, Mister Worf, recall the remaining fighters," Picard said firmly. "Send them all in together."

"Yes sir!" The Klingon barked, "Twelve seconds until all Carriers achieve full deck launch, then all fighters will-" Static garbled the rest of his words, and on the view screen, one of the Akiras took a series of energy blasts dead on, before swooping gracefully to the side, a third of its saucer melted away. Seconds later, fighters spilled from the damaged deck, and from the other Carriers, which were escaping on different vectors.

"Mister Worf!" Picard's tone took on an urgency for the first time. To his right, Captain Riker leaned forward, snapping orders to interpose the flagship between the Borg Cube and the wounded Akira.

"Do you copy, Mister Worf?" Riker almost yelled out. Long seconds ticked by, and the wounded ship limped away at its best speed as multiple Borg tractors tore at the Enterprise.

"Shields at forty-three percent, Captain! We're getting leak-through pretty bad, the ablative armor is taking damage-" The Ensign's report was interrupted by the crackling of static. Klingon curses rolled out over the comm systems, and despite the crashing sounds and hiss of fire extinguishing systems, Worf's voice sounded like it was coming through an amplifier.

"All Peregrines are away, but the Midway is too wounded to fight or run-"

"Just hang tight, Mister Worf," Riker said tautly, hanging on to the arms of his command chair as the Enterprise bucked wildly. "We'll get you and your ship out of here!"

"You'll be destroyed yourself if you try to shield our ship with your own. Perhaps today is a good day to die after all-!" On the screen, the damaged ship turned on its axis, leaving the shadow of the Enterprise and firing off a volley of photon torpedoes. A Borg tractor beam flitted out and tore the vessel in half. Picard sat back slowly as if the breath had been knocked out of him.

A swarm of dots converged on the damaged Cube. Closing in, sparkles of white spawned from the front of the fighters, covering the enemy ship in explosions. Too many subs-systems had already been damaged, and one of the numerous quantum torpedoes hit something critical that happened to be unshielded at that moment. A third of the Cube vaporized, and the rest began to slowly come apart, as if the ship's regenerative capabilities were working in reverse. There was no escape sphere.

The view screen went dark, the red battle lighting faded, and normal illumination came back up.

"_Simulation ended,"_ said the computer in its usual blank female voice. After a moment's rest, the Admiral lifted his head.

"All ships of the Fleet, return to normal operating status," he said, his voice tired. "All flag officers report to the Enterprise for the after-action briefing. Picard out."

* * *

The hushed reverent atmosphere that had haunted the corridors of the Enterprise since her assignment to the newly reactivated Seventh Fleet was shaken by the most recent events, as evidenced by Captain Riker and Admiral Picard as they made their way down one of them towards the briefing room. Around a bend in this particular corridor, excited voices could be heard.

"I'm telling you, it was my torpedo!" An exuberant Captain Tom Paris gesticulated wildly, narrow missing his fellow conversationalist's head as the two of them turned the corner and came into view. The Andorian moved his head slightly, antennae twitching for a moment, more from expression of denial than frustration at his colleague's antics.

"It was not, I can assure you," the blue-skinned alien replied stiffly.

"It was! You saw how perfect my pass was," he maneuvered his hand as if it were a ship, "Boom! In and out, and then it went up like a firecracker!"

The Andorian snorted and shook his head.

"You're more stubborn than many of my species, I'll give you that."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen...!" The sharp contralto female voice made Tom and the Andorian jump. "Aren't you supposed to be on your way to a briefing?" The two looked like a pair of misbehaving kids caught in the act. "You could at least do yourselves the favor of getting there before the Admiral gets there..." Riker chose this moment to inconspicuously clear his throat, and Tom suddenly snapped into an attention pose that would put most cadets straight from the Academy to shame.

"I-I'm sorry sir, I didn't recognize you... I mean-" the man floundered, "I didn't mean it like that..." The Andorian beside him might as well have been a blue statue etched into a mountain. It didn't even look like he was breathing.

"At ease, gentlemen," Picard said, hiding the humor he felt. He gave a subtle nod Riker.

"After you," Riker said, nodding and gesturing down the hall with open hand. His voice carried enough sting to make Tom sweat furiously, but still held a hint of good humor. The two walked, or marched rather, ahead, and while Picard leaned closer to Riker, fingering the short, somewhat sparse white hair covering most of his face and cheeks.

"Doesn't make me look old, does it?"

Riker put on his poker face.

"Of course not, sir."

The facial hair was very close to how he remembered himself when the temporal trickster Q had taken him to a possible future. He had never considered himself to be a beard man until the day he decided to grow it. Riker leaned in, and the change in expression told Picard that his Flag Captain had changed trains of thought. The rapport to know such things about the man he had worked with so closely for so long was what had led to him requesting the man for the position.

"Speaking of the young Captain's outburst a minute ago, that was the first sim run that ended up at least close to a win. how long are we going to be running the fleet through anti-Borg tactics?" The gleam in Riker's eyes told Picard exactly what was going through the man's mind. He got that look whenever he thought he was not being given all the information, especially when that information was probably interesting. In this case, it hit close to the mark, and touched on one of Picard's very few sensitive subjects, that of his time as Locutus of Borg. Since then, he had encountered the Borg once more, and had been instrumental in defeating them.

He had told no one, not even his former First Officer, nor had he even put in any report, that the only reason he had led the Fleet to victory at that time was because he had heard the Borg's thoughts. On some level, he still had the ability to tap into their communications, and it frightened him. Riker did not know this was going through his Admiral's mind, but he saw the hesitation, and the intense look, and knew he had touched on something sensitive.

"Sorry, Admiral," he said, returning to his professional mask, "tell me later." Picard twitched his head in a nod, inwardly grateful for the reprieve. Riker wasn't the only one asking questions about his choice of tactics. He knew he had always had enemies in Starfleet higher-ups, and something like this was just what those enemies would look for.

Even if he had heard nothing overt, that didn't mean the danger wasn't there. Then it hit him, what he had been thinking about during the simulation, and couldn't figure out. He actually paused a moment, mid-step, as the realization set in.

The simulation battles didn't take into account his strange ability to hear the Borg intra-ship communications.

"Sir?" Riker was looking at him curiously. He shook himself.

"Nothing," he said. Ahead were the briefing room doors, which slid aside at their approach. "Shall we?"

"After you, sir."

* * *

Subtle unrest niggled its way through her connection with her sometimes-helpers, sometimes-prisoners, sometimes-jailers.

"The search continues," she whispered into the void, "as it will continue, until they are all found."

The unrest disappeared abruptly. The Borg were nothing if not obedient to the one they called Queen, whether they agreed with her decisions or not.

"You chose me," Yui whispered. The Collective's surprise was as refreshing as it always was. Pity, explanation, these things were foreign to them, foreign to the other Queens who had come before. "If you want me to do what you chose me to do, then let me work." Chagrin. Not quite chagrin. The Collective did not actually have the ability to feel such a thing, or to question its own perfect choices, but after three years of closeness with their new Queen, they felt something close.

"Look," Yui cast the Collective's gaze outward, along the transwarp network that was slowly being reconstructed. "It's being completed far ahead of your schedule." Assent. There was no arguing with reality. "This human drive, this is why you chose me, and left me almost completely untouched."

She fell silent, and the Collective slowly withdrew. Small fragments of its consciousness still dissented, but they were coming around, as they always did. Even so, these little confrontations were becoming more and more frequent. She had only told a partial truth earlier. The rest of the reason they had chosen her had yet to be truly fulfilled. It was the reason for this search, alongside the rebuilding of the Borg transport network.

The two tasks intermeshed, though the results were somewhat unlike the Borg's usual modus operandi. Left to themselves, the Borg chose three courses of action when it came to a race they came across in their travels. One, it was too weak, and thus left alone. Two, it was too powerful, and thus destroyed. Three, it was neither too weak, nor too powerful, and so it was allowed to flourish. At regular intervals, such a race would be culled, it would be harvested for the technology it had come up with since the last encounter.

The Federation was one such race.

Unwitting. Naïve. So completely innocent to their true purpose to the Collective. It was only unfortunate that the previous Queen had allowed the Federation to very nearly discover their hidden purpose, by allowing Voyager to find the Transwarp conduit barely one light-year from earth.

Even if they were weak and naïve, it was only a matter of time before someone in the Federation started wondering why the Borg had such direct access to earth, and yet had never invaded it with overwhelming force. When that happened, everything would change, starting with...

_Found._

_Found... Found... FoundFoundFound-_

A spark of joy obliterated her train of thought, and she felt the Borg withdraw, almost as if in pain, before suddenly moving in towards the strong cloying emotion. Like a moth drawn to flame, she felt them embrace her hesitantly, even knowing they were going to get burned.

A display appeared in the void, showing a planet.

Blur of motion, and distance was crossed. A Cardassian planet. Small flickers of weapons fire, of Cardassian ships dying like fireflies. Hull fragments, some on fire, some not, drifted lazily, spun about, tossed aside as the Cube drove onward towards the planet below. Sensors flickered out, searching. Finding.

A sliver of a green hazed downwards, a transporter beam, questing out for the one person on this planet that was worth saving.

_Found her._

* * *

A large monitor dominated the front of the massive briefing room, and on it was a moving picture. The Borg Cube, its green tractor beams flashing out, disabling ships. A familiar scene, one which every Captain present had lived through hours earlier. One of the half-dozen Intrepids harrying the Borg was suddenly hit, and disabled. A Prometheus Attack Cruiser swooped in, destroying the emitter, and shielding the injured ship. The Borg Cube began its slow turn that would end in the Prometheus' destruction at the hands of fresh weapon emitters. The screen froze just as green sparkles lanced out from the Cube to the small ship shielding its fellow.

"Too close," Picard said, indicating the screen. "-and too stationary. Never stay in one place for so long, especially that close to a Borg ship."

"Sir," Admiral Janeway's contralto voice carried subtle reproach, mingled with surprise, "a ship under my command was disabled. Didn't you do the same for the Defiant the last time you faced the Borg?"

Picard's expression hardened for a moment, then he sighed.

"True," he replied. "By my ship was fresh. It had not been in a running battle for five hours straight. Indeed, the battle was nearly over, by the time the Enterprise arrived. Still," he raised a hand, forestalling further argument, "I understand your point. But if you look here," he manipulated the panel in front of him, moving the display diagonally towards a group of fighter craft. The two dozen small craft were elongated smudges on the screen, they had been moving so fast. "The young Captain Paris was already in position to render assistance in drawing the Borg's fire. As you can see," he touched the controls, and the display continued. Tom's fighter group swarmed over the Borg vessel, but the Cube was already focused on Janeway's ship, which it destroyed methodically, before turning on the fighters.

"Of course, Admiral," Janeway said contritely, "You're right." There was a moment of silence.

"Not completely," Picard finally said. "Had I been more astute, I would have seen your intentions, and informed you of the larger situation."

"More astute?" Janeway said, a puzzled expression on her face. Picard didn't answer, and she was about to repeat her question, when he spoke.

"I was thinking," he almost whispered, his eyes distant. He had been thinking, at that time, about his connection with the Borg, and how it changed things. Subtle murmurs broke the silence showing everyone's surprise at how Picard's mask had slipped, even if for a moment. Riker leaned over.

"Admiral?" he asked softly. Picard seemed to come to himself, and sat up a little straighter, his hands going automatically to straighten his uniform, in what had infamously become known as the Picard Maneuver. He was about to speak, when someone else spoke up for him. It was the aforementioned Captain Tom Paris.

"Admiral, if you don't mind my asking, when are we going to be allowed to use all the weapons at our disposal?" The murmurs got louder, both at the audacity of Tom's question, and because many were thinking the same thing. It was a useful question. After all, they had only won the previous scenario by assuming that Federation Peregrine TacFighters could be modified to carry Quantum Torpedoes, which was still in the experimental stages of development. Picard considered the man's question, his feelings hidden from his expression for the moment. Tom took this as license to continue. "These simulations aren't accurate if they don't take into account the main weapons and defenses that we'll be using-"

Rike half stood, and was about to silence the brash Captain when he stopped suddenly. Picard had put a light hand on his arm.

"Captain," Picard said smoothly, smiling the tight diplomatic smile Riker had so often seen before. There was no actual condescension in that smile, but it implied nearly the same thing. "I don't have to explain myself, but in this case I will. The Borg have had nearly three years to study the data they gathered from when they engaged Voyager. There are several possibilities. One, that the weapons and armor are still effective against the Borg, in which case, all of this is moot." He looked around. No one believed this possibility, even if they all hoped for it.

"Two, that the weapons are completely ineffective, in which case they won't even be used. Or three, that their effectiveness has been dropped to the level of our other weapons. Remember, however the Borg may adapt, all that means is that it will take more of the same weapon to do any appreciable damage." He glanced around again, more briefly this time.

"Will Transphasic torpedoes still kill a Borg ship with one or two shots? Did the adaptations the Borg Sphere made to Voyager's experimental Ablative armor generators spread to the rest of the Collective before it was destroyed? We simply have no way of knowing anything until we face them again." No one had anything to say, or if they did, they did not have the courage to say it. Picard stood slowly. "Very well. If there are no more concerns or issues, this briefing is dismissed-"

The doors at the far end of the briefing room whooshed open, and distant loud voices raised in volume. On one side was the firm voice of a Federation security officer.

"-I'm sorry, sir, you can't go in! A briefing is taking place-"

On the other, was Zimmerman, his voice as confident and important as the data he was carrying.

"A briefing?" he said archly. "Good. Then everyone'll be in one place, and I won't have to repeat myself."

"Sir, this is your last warning...!" The man adjusted the setting on his phaser rifle.

"Stand down, officer," Picard said, speaking up. "The good Captain... Zimmerman, isn't it?" Picard didn't wait for confirmation, "-obviously has something important to tell us." It was implied in his tone that if it wasn't important, 'Captain' Zimmerman would shortly be 'Ensign' Zimmerman. The man came up short, noting for the first time how many auspicious names and ranks were gathered around him. He came to a rare attention, and spoke up.

"Admiral, my ship encountered a Borg Cube." He didn't wait to let this sink in. "The Borg didn't stop, or engage my vessel at all. It was traveling at maximum Impulse at these coordinates, in this direction." he held up a small Padd, which apparently contained said information. The murmurs from before increased in volume.

"Clear the room," Picard murmured to Riker, who immediately stood up. Before Riker could issue even one order, the comm system trilled.

"_Urgent message for Admiral Picard,"_ The Computer said in her neutral voice. Picard turned the small viewer in front of him so he could see better.

"On my viewer," he instructed the computer. The viewer changed, showing black empty space lit with stars. Two Federation ships faced a flurry of distant green specks. A small square appeared, with the distorted view of a middle-aged male, black hair covering a slightly bored expression.

"Admiral, we were patrolling the neutral zone between Federation and Klingon space. They just came out of cloak five minutes ago, and demanded that we withdraw. They're cloaking and decloaking randomly, so I can't get a good count, but I think they want a stand-up fight."

Picard's eyes narrowed. Two Nebula-Class Cruisers versus an unknown number of Klingon ships. While it was true that tensions between the Federation and the Klingon Empire had risen slowly over the past three years, this would be the first actual confrontation that didn't involve a few ships decloaking, firing a few shots, and vanishing back into cloak. On the other hand...

"I'm sorry, Admiral," the man said, his voice suddenly tinny behind the whooping of alarms, "It looks like I'm out of time." The man's head turned to the side, he apparently now speaking to one of his bridge crew. "Lieutenant, activate the Ablative generators."

On the screen, sections of the two ships seemed to expand, starting at the front of the ships and going back. The growth moved evenly and rapidly, until every curve and arc of each ship had expanded outwards, giving both ships the appearance of being nearly twenty percent bigger. The distant shapes of enemy craft began to enlarge, and sparkles of green floated from them out towards the two Federation ships.

* * *

The classroom was the usual quiet riot of sound and activity right after the lunch bell had rung, the different groups forming, each clique with its own set of rules and members, completely on the fly. Standard politics for fourteen-year-olds.

"It was so cool! You really had to have been there, it was awesome!" Kensuke gesticulated wildly, as he, Touji, and Shinji slowly walked the halls of Tokyo-3 middle school to the lunchroom. "Shinji, I know your parents were out that night, and Touji was grounded, but the military just released the specs on the new armed VTOL! Seriously, how could you guys miss that!?"

Touji shot Shinji an 'easily' look, which Shinji agreed to with a half-grin. Kensuke continued his rapid-fire review.

"-most armament of its class anywhere in the world, as maneuverable as anything in the sky, complete aerial domination! And I was there! I practically touched it...! I'm telling you, I can take a break for a while, the pictures I took have made me rich..." which was true. The other two stooges had seen firsthand the throng of students that had come to their friend for his pictures.

"So Shinji," Touji said, desperately attempting to drag the conversation back to something interesting, "wanna shoot hoops after school?"

"Sure," Shinji answered with some relief, "but I can't stay long, my parents-" he paused for a moment, as if in thought.

"What is it?" Touji asked. Shinji looked confused, then suddenly turned. Rei chose that moment to bump into him, relieving him of the lunch he was carrying. Her lunch, that is. She turned and stuck her tongue out at him, before continuing on her way.

"Man," Touji said, "that 'twin' thing you two pull is creepy if you ask me..." the boy shivered for effect.

Shinji smiled wryly. He and Rei were fraternal twins, or so his mother had told him. Whatever the reason, he sometimes had this feeling, when she was near. Twice in his life, he had actually felt a physical pain at the exact time Rei had been injured elsewhere. Once when she broke an arm, and the other when she got a really bad headache. That time, he had come upon her sitting in a desk in an unused classroom, her head on her arms. She was in such pain she hadn't realized he had been in the room until he touched her shoulder, and when he did, the realization stunned her right out of the pain.

The three stooges continued onwards.

Lunch had just gotten underway when the door to the dining area opened. A hush fell over the room as the old professor walked through the open doorway, his weathered hand on the shoulder of a female girl wearing the outfit that was this school's uniform. Her auburn hair was adorned with two red clips, and her young face held a strange mix of fear and anger. It was etched into her features, which was odd considering the situation. The raw emotion in her eyes was enough to make one wonder if she had just come from a torture chamber, as opposed to just down the hall. Shinji happened to look up at that moment, and two tables away, he felt Rei look up as well.

"Lunch isn't over," the professor said, waving at the students to continue what they were doing. "I just wanted to introduce someone. From this day onward, this young lady will be sharing your class. Treat her well. That's all." The professor turned to go, leaving the girl standing there. Her flitting eyes lit on Shinji's, then danced over to Rei's. They moved back to Shinji's, and the boy felt as if the universe stood still for a moment. Somehow, he knew her.

.

.

.

On a monitor, somewhere else, Yui watched the odd reunion. She felt the complex emotions of her children and their liberated friend, inwardly smiling at the feeling of satisfaction she felt from the Collective.

"We will continue to search for the others," she whispered into the void, "until all are found."

With that, all disagreement had evaporated. There was nothing but unwavering agreement and devotion from the Collective, now. Just as there should be, from subjects, to their Queen.

* * *

A/N: To the reviewer... Actually that's true, Rei would make a great stereotypical ice-cold Borg Queen, that's just not what I'm going for in this one ;-p on the other hand, maybe something like that could happen, somewhere in the story. I've got the ending in mind (which I try to do these days, when I write), but getting there is open country


End file.
